t mean to beg of your bounty.
I am not so lost as to wrench from your aged hand, the gold that may
purchase comfort and luxuries for all your remaining years. No, Miss
Thusa, my reason has returned--my sense of honor, too--I were worse than
a robber, to take advantage of your generous offer."

"Louis--Louis Gleason," cried Miss Thusa, rising from her seat, her
tall, ancestral-looking figure assuming an air of majesty and
command--"listen to me; if you cast that purse from you, I will never
make use of it as long as I live, which won't be long. It will do no good
to a human being. What do I want of money? I had rather live in this
little, old, gray hut than the palace of the Queen of England. I had
rather earn my bread by this wheel, than eat the food of idleness. Your
father gives me fuel in winter, and his heart is warmed by the fire that
he kindles for me. It does him good. It does everybody good to befriend
another. What do I want of money? To whom in the wide world should I
give it, but you and Helen? I have as much and more for her. My heart is
drawn powerfully towards you two children, and it will continue to draw,
while there is life in its fibres or blood in its veins. Take it, I
say--and in the name of your mother in heaven, go, and sin no more."

"I take it," said Louis, awed into submission and humility by her
prophetic solemnity, "I take it as a loan, which I will labor day and
night to return. What would my father say, if he knew of this?"

"He will not know it, unless you break your word," said Miss Thusa,
setting her wheel in motion, and wetting her fingers in the gourd. "You
may go, now, if you will not talk of something else. I must go and get
some more flax. I can see all the ribs of my distaff."

Louis knew that this was an excuse to escape his thanks, and giving her
hand a reverent and silent pressure, he left the cabin. Heavy as lead
lay the purse in his pocket--heavy as lead lay the heart in his bosom.

Helen met him at the door, with a radiant countenance.

"Who do you think is come, brother?" she asked.

"Is it Clinton?" said he.

"Oh! no--it is Alice. A friend of her brother was coming directly here,
and she accompanied him. Come and see her."

"Thank God! _she_ cannot see!" exclaimed Louis, as he passed into the
presence of the blind girl.

Though no beam of pleasure irradiated her sightless eyes, her bright and
heightening color, the eager yet tremulous tones of her voice assured
hi